Exit the Omwati
by Plaited Oodleplexes
Summary: Silly little ramble, of indeterminate date, about a newly-minted roleplaying character of mine. Sforza's always good for a laugh. No canon characters, no Sues, no noncanon language!


_A/N: __Seven-hundred fifty-eight words of a sample roleplay post, written for an application to a roleplaying site. May the Force be with you while reading this silly ramble of a thing. _

"Fine!"

The word exploded from the small Omwati woman, spattering the pub owner with Arcarggm-scented spittle. He calmly wiped himself off with a long-furred arm as Sforza went on, shaking a glinting mechanical hand in his face,

"You fink you can keep this plashe goin' for a week wivvout a deshent 'boardisht? Huh?" She glared unsteadily up at the stolid Wookiee, who grunted something guttural in reply.

"Oh, sure you could bring in a frakkin' shliced-up prot'col droid. I bet it'd play Lapti frizzin' Nek until itsh bloody audsh gave out!"

With that, Sforza Ndo abruptly stuck her tongue out at the Wookiee and stormed out of the pub, pausing only to empty her tip jar down the front of her dress for safekeeping. The heavy, humid air of Kashyyyk hit her like a wall of bricks, and the effect was such that she had to abruptly sit down, else risk tumbling over the edge of the platform.

Hmm…the edge. Flopping onto her stomach, Sforza wriggled forward until she could see down through the layers of the Wookiee town. The lights from dozens of windows danced merrily on the platforms and walkways, and she sighed, suddenly homesick for the crowded streets of Coruscant. Maybe, just maybe, if she let herself roll forward and fell fast enough, she could pretend that the enormous hairy Wookiees were the hundreds of different species that made their homes in the glittering city…

Something howled in the jungle below, jolting Sforza back to herself. Homesick? What? She shook her head and fumbled her way to her feet, automatically feeling for her hip flask. The instant her prosthetic fingers clicked against the battered silver container, she felt a little steadier, a little more at ease. A single mouthful of Arcarggm was enough to send her staggering towards the stairs leading to where she was pretty sure she'd rented a room. Or was it just a hammock? She couldn't remember. At any rate, her bag was somewhere around here, and she'd just realized that she'd been wearing the same blue-green dress for almost three days now. Yecch. Absently, she wiped a dribble of Arcarggm from the corner of her mouth with the corner of a sleeve.

Besides, she'd made good on the tips this past night – she had to stop walking in order to make a quick count of the credits that had settled inside the bodice of her dress; trying to do both at once could have disastrous consequences – but it wasn't even enough to buy an in-flight drink. Not unless she was going to cram herself in with the droids and cargo, and there was no way in the Core that was going to happen. No sir. The kind of cash needed to get an off-world ticket resided in a hidden place in…something in her bag. She didn't quite remember what.

That could be problematic, come to think of it. There were enough things in her bag to make finding the neat bundles of credits difficult. They could be in her jizz case, under a stack of underwear, tucked into the lining of the bag itself…

First things first, though: finding the bag. Sforza was sure it was somewhere around here. She made a habit of never renting accommodations too far from her place of employment. That made it faster whenever she had to skip town, which happened with depressing frequency.

She squinted against the dim walkway lights, first one way then the other, trying to figure out where exactly she'd left the burning bag. Hadn't the nice youngling outside the shuttleport said to…now, what _had_ he said?

Something came flying out of the pub door behind her and landed with a _whumpf_ on the walkway, accompanied by a derisive shout from the pub's owner. The drunken Omwati picked up the worn blue bag, panickedly dug through to inspect the multiple instruments within to ensure they weren't damaged, hugged it gleefully, and began wending her unsteady way towards the shuttleport. There was supposed to be a shuttle leaving sometime tomorrow – today? – for somewhere Corewards. N'zoth, maybe it'd been? That was supposed to be a nice enough place. Unless she was mixing it up with Alderaan. Alderaanians made good brandy, much better than the Arcarggm that currently sloshed on her hip.

Come to think of it, there wasn't much left to slosh, or with which to get sloshed. That could be a problem, if her current state of sloshed-ness started to wear off during what would undoubtedly be an interminable flight. But, if she bought the absolutely cheapest ticket possible, she ought to have enough credits

Sforza shrugged to herself, spilling clothes half-out of the unfastened bag in the process. She'd go wherever the shuttles ran, carrying her tunes with her.

Just not Lapti Nek.

_A/N: In case nobody got it, I decided that "Lapti Nek" –__ a popular Huttese song, whose title translates to "Work it Out" – would be the equivalent of "Free Bird." No matter where you play in the US of A, someone's going to yell "Free Bird." Also, Sforza Ndo: chronically drunk Omwati, with oversized prosthetic hands. She might be popping up later on; we shall simply have to see. _

_Review if this made you laugh, or even crack a smile. __;D_


End file.
